


Over Fire and Water

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2117565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing's ever a coincidence, not in John's experience. </p><p>--</p><p>This Potterlock, set during the events of Goblet of Fire, was written for DemonicSymphony for the Exchangelock AU Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Fire and Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DemonicSymphony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicSymphony/gifts).



> This fic is a gift for DemonicSymphony, for the Exchangelock AU Exchange 2014.
> 
> I'm so so so so so so so insanely sorry this is taking so long! Life's gotten in the way but I sincerely hope you like it. It's been written with much love, I swear!
> 
> Thanks to my RL friends for beta'ing this for me.
> 
> Stole some lines from the lovely JKR, made up some stuff, and I can only hope it works out like I want it to.
> 
> The title's from Through the Dark by One Direction and this was also partially inspired by this song and Strong by 1D, too.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it.

John Watson was clearly not the only one who was upset when Professor Dumbledore announced Quidditch was cancelled this term. Angry cries echoed across the Great Hall, but John was sure that there was no one as disappointed as he. Fuck, he had practiced _all summer_ and was sure he was going to get at least a chaser position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He had improved so much since his shoulder injury on his third year, when Angelina Johnson had stepped in and replaced him (permanently).

Now, this was John's last year; his last opportunity and he wouldn't even get a chance to try... He groaned in frustration and put his face in his hands. Greg Lestrade, his best mate, clapped him loudly on his back.

"Sorry, John," he whispered. "Sometimes, it's just not meant to be." And John knew his mate was right, but that didn't mean that he was okay with it... Fuck, he felt stupidly emotional. He just really wanted a chance to try out for Chaser. Maybe even Keeper as Wood had graduated...

John barely registered the rest of Dumbledore's words or the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher clanking his way across the Great Hall. Blood was rushing on his ears, blocking everything out. He knew it was probably stupid to be so bloody upset over something like this. The thing is, without Quidditch, John often felt like nothing. Well, maybe not _nothing_ , but certainly _less_. He was ordinary, but flying.... Merlin, flying. The wind on his cheeks, the ground ten meters below his feet, the speed of his broom—it was exhilarating. With Quidditch, John felt a bit _more_.

“As I was saying,” Dumbledore’s words echoed through the Hall, “we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”

"YOU'RE JOKING."

John, along with almost everyone in the hall, laughed at Fred Weasley's sudden outburst. John turned to look at Greg, whose eyes were shining with excitement at the mention of the Tournament.

"Holy fuck," Greg muttered. "My gramps told me about those. He said they were pretty epic--"

John, well. He was a Muggle born, as well as his sister, so he knew nothing about this Tournament. However, he was excited as soon as Dumbledore started explaining. God, it was going to be _huge_ , John was sure. The fact that people from Beauxbatons and Drumstrang were coming and staying at Hogwarts made the whole prospect more exciting, at least for John, who had only interacted with British witches and wizards, being a muggle born and all. But, shit, the prize money? A thousand galleons? Fuck the death toll. He would sell Merlin's bollocks--

"Bedtime! Chop chop!" Dumbledore exclaimed, snapping John out of his thoughts just as he heard a sweet voice coming from behind him, startling him.

"Hi John." He turned around and saw Mary Morstan—Hufflepuff, Head Girl, insanely beautiful. John felt a swooping sensation in his belly as he looked into Mary’s smiling blue eyes. "Have a good summer?"

Greg was sniggering at John’s rising blush without even to hide his amusement. John elbowed him and answered breathlessly, managing a small smile, "Yeah, and you?"

"Yeah. Mum and I went to visit family in France. It was beautiful!" Mary's smile faded into a grimace. “Despite some of my weird cousins.” She wrinkled her nose and continued, "sorry, I didn't catch you on the train. I wanted to talk to you about Gryffindor Tower's password."

There was an awkward pause in which Mary bit her bottom lip, playing with her short blond curls. John just stared. Just... stared at Mary’s lips and her pink cheeks and her long fingers and the Head Girl badge on her breast, her lovely waist and—

"So, what about it?" Greg said, breaking the tension that had quickly enveloped the atmosphere.

"Oh, I was wondering if I could have it,” Mary replied, batting her impossibly long eyelashes.

"Whatever the fuck for?” Greg asked, puzzled.

“Um, I’d just love to pay you a visit sometime,” she said, almost crowding into John’s face with heavily lidded eyes.

“I—wha—Mary, I don’t—wait, what? What do you mean?”

Mary giggled and winked and bounced away, waving at them before disappearing in the flock of students exiting the Hall.

John cleared his throat, trying (unsuccessfully) to hide his blush and dreamy eyes from Greg’s knowing gaze. “When are you getting it through your thick head that she wants you?”

“She’s got a boyfriend.”

“So what?”

John rolled his eyes and schooled his expression into a cheery one, with a bright smile, and called down the Gryffindor table. "First years, follow me!"

Shepherding first years wasn't one of John's favorite prefect duties, but Greg kept him appropriately distracted with a constant stream of chatter as they led the way to the Tower. They explained to the new students the way things worked in Gryffindor, led them to the first year dormitories before collapsing on their own, cozy four-poster beds. John let a contented sigh. He was glad he was back at Hogwarts, really. Things had gotten... a little rough at home and his school had always provided a special kind of comfort he found nowhere else.

"John?" Greg asked later, when they finished unpacking their belongings and gotten into their pajamas, feeling settled in.

"Yeah?"

"D'you reckon you'll ever ask Mary out? I mean you've fancied her since she lent you her ear muffs in Herbology so--"

"--so I wouldn't wear the pink, fluffy ones." John smiled fondly at the memory. "I know."

"That was ages ago, mate. What were you waiting for?"

John shrugged, though Greg couldn't see through the darkness. “Drop it, Greg.”

"Fine. But I’m just saying, you still could. Ask her out y’know. She might dump the arse." John could hear the smirk on Lestrade's voice when he replied, relishing in the thought of Marcus Flint—biggest, dumbest Slytherin arse in the history of Hogwarts (as Greg so often put it)—being dumped.

After a while, when the snores of Rolf Scamander and Mike Stamford filled the silence, Greg whispered into the darkness, "This year will be fantastic, John."

"Yeah."

"But I mean it, Watson. This will be our best year at Hogwarts, you'll see. We're going to have the time of our lives," Greg continued. "It will be unforgettable."

"Sure thing," was the last thing John mumbled before falling asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Hogwarts, in some ways, had remained the same as ever. Classes were always fun; the food, fantastic. He still had impromptu Quidditch matches with his friends, and bothered the Giant Squid down by the lake when the weather was nice and the homework was low; still stayed up late, taking some swigs off a stolen bottle of Firewhisky with the company of Rolf Scamander and Greg, popping Bertie Botts’ until the wee hours of the morning (but only on weekends. Come on, they’re responsible).

There were also clear improvements (the Dementors. John was thinking about the amazing lack of Dementors). And the fact that Flint and Mary broke up (Greg as ecstatic). However, classes were tougher than ever, understandably. Teachers were worried about the upcoming N.E.W.Ts that would define their students’ future and seemed to be doing everything in their power to prepare them for the examinations. John was taking all classes with Rolf Scamander, who, like John, was taking the necessary courses to become a Healer. Meanwhile, Greg wanted to become an Auror, so they had some classes together, and frankly, those were always the most fun.

John found himself absolutely swamped by coursework all the time, barely noticing how quickly October was approaching. This year, in Hogwarts, October meant two things: the arrival of the foreign delegations and the first Hogsmeade visit of the year. Both events had the entire school buzzing with excitement. But John? John was over the fucking moon with it. Especially because, mainly because of Greg’s incessant nagging, he’d asked the recently-single Mary out. And she’d said yes, a cheeky smile upon her lips.

“I was wondering if you would ever do it,” she’d said, a sly look on her pretty eyes. John sputtered something that startled a laugh out of Mary before he retreated to talk to Greg and Rolf, who were both thrilled for their friend, since they were apparently living vicariously through John.

So finally, John had donned his best jumper and his fuck-me jeans to meet Mary outside the Great Hall and escort her to the nearby village. Honestly, they’d both been surprised by the way their conversation seemed to flow endlessly, about Quidditch and their families (though neither of them was too fond on the subject) and their futures. They held hands as they strolled through High Street, joking and laughing and having some ice cream despite the chilly weather. After a while, they headed to Madam Puddifoot’s and they sat down on the table by the window—

“Fuck off, mate!” Rolf had exclaimed later that night, interrupting John’s play-by-play narration of every single thing about his date with his mates. They were in the Gryffindor Common Room; their scattered books, completely ignored. It was a nice night, after a nice date. John kept his cold toes under Greg’s legs, nursing a bottle of butterbeer from their seat on the couch.

“That place is so bloody awful. The tea is atrocious,” Rolf continued.

“It’s romantic, Scamander,” Mike, their fourth roommate, explained from the armchair by the fire. “All the girls love that place.”

“Yeah, yeah, as if you’d know,” Rolf snorted. Mike scowled, throwing a cushion at Rolf who deftly Banished it with a quick non-verbal spell, hitting Mike square on his face.

“Settle down, lads!” Greg said between laughs as a small duel broke out. Jinxes, hexes and giggles ricocheting across the Common Room, scaring off a few first years, annoying some other students and breaking a few things (but nothing they couldn’t replace).

“Bloody Stamford,” Rolf muttered, once they had settled down and removed a particularly nasty Bat Boogey hex that had hit Rolf square on the face.

“Either way,” Greg started, teasingly, “Rolf would never take a girl. He’d take that _adorable_ Ravenclaw fourth year he’s had his eyes on for two years.”

“Who? Terry Boot?” John quipped, grinning at Rolf who blushed furiously.

“Fuck off,” he mumbled. “He’s a fourth-year. And he’s probably straight.”

“So!” Mike said, turning to look at John with a glint in his eyes. “Did you kiss her?”

Rolf seemed relieved at the shift in the conversation as John bit his lip and nodded, not really wanting to tell his mates all about it. After all, he was allowed a _private_ life, right? Shit like that was hard when you lived _all_ under the same roof, literally.

Either way, the kiss had been... almost perfect. All awkward and clumsy and sloppy. Neither of them really knew what to do with each other, either way, and John supposed one would get better with practice (and he’d be getting it). So he didn’t mind it, much.

Rolf and Greg started catcalling loudly before they were sushed by a Hermione Granger from across the Common Room with a particularly fiery glare... John flashed the fourth year a rueful smile. He felt like they’d made enough mess for the night, so he convinced them all to head off to bed, talking excitedly about October 30th, just around the corner.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they were in their beds, after dinner in October the 30th, Rolf would argue that the best part of the day was skipping the last half hour of their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. John was inclined to agree (there was something that deeply disturbed him about Mad-Eye Moody’s class, yet nobody seemed to agree with him but Rolf). However, the thing is John had seen Him.

After their lessons were done, they had been all ushered to the entrance hall, where McGonagall was ordering all Gryffindors into lines to receive their guests in an orderly way. There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air as they lined up in the front of the castle. The evening was cool and clear—the moon was shining over the Forbidden Forest, the chilly breeze ruffling the students’ robes and hats. Everyone was whispering amongst each other, theories of their guests’ arrival being whispered and passed on.

“I heard they were arriving on the Hogwarts expr—”

“—nah, mate, maybe broomsticks—”

“—that’s impossible. There are too many of them, maybe a Portkey—”

“Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation of Beauxbatons approaches!” Dumbledore’s voice rang out clear above the murmured speculations. And indeed, there it was, something powder-blue and very large was flying through the darkening sky, toward the castle. It was a massive horse-drawn carriage, John could see once it had soared closer. It was being pulled by a dozen breathtakingly golden flying horses each the size—the size of a bloody elephant.

“Fucking hell,” Greg breathed next to him in amazement. John could only nod and stare, his mouth agape. The carriage and horses landed right in front of them, unceremoniously, but John had never seen anything like it or whatever was about to come next. When the carriage door opened, a tall boy, with curly dark hair in pale blue robes, jumped down from it. John could see his silhouette bend forward and fumble for a moment with something on the carriage floor, unfolding a set of golden steps before stepping back. And then he turned around, facing the castle’s light, and John had never seen anyone or anything more beautiful. Fuck the bloody carriage and its fucking flying horses.

The boy’s face was pale, angular and all sharp edges. His eyes were blue and grey and in them sparkled something like... rightful arrogance. He had the collar of his cloak turned up, and wore a navy blue scarf. He was long, he was dark and he was breathtaking.

“Merlin’s beard!” Rolf squeaked next to John.

“I know, he’s beautiful,” John replied absentmindedly.

“What?” Rolf and Greg said at the same time, turning to look at John with surprise on their features.

“Yeah, he’s...” Greg frowned, “....cute but _how the fuck did you miss that giant woman stomping out of the car_ ,” he hissed.

“Huh?” John was still staring at Curls, who was shuffling a fair distance away from the group of powder-blue clad students with a bored look on his face. He seemed to be the only one dressed appropriately for the Scottish weather, John noted, as the rest of his group only wore their school robes and pretty hats.

John barely registered the fact that the Hogwarts students were shuffling from their lines to let the Beauxbatons students through the entrance hall. And Curls, when he walked past John with an air of self-importance, flashed him a knowing smile that finally made John snap out of it, looking away and blushing. And then, Rolf pinched him.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re pathetic.” Rolf rolled his eyes. “You’ve got Mary already. I call dibs on Cheekbones over there.”

John sputtered, undignified, while Rolf and Greg laughed at him.

“I’m only kidding,” Rolf said and then grimaced. “Partially.” John smacked the back of Rolf’s head. “Honestly, mate, you can’t just call all the good-looking people at the school. Give us a chance, will you?”

John rolled his eyes as a loud gurgling noise was heard, coming from the lake. It was the Drumstrang delegation, emerging from the depths of the murky water. The headmaster and the students looked bloody intimidating, especially the blokes, dressed in furs and robes of all dark colours.

But honestly? John could care less. He could care less Viktor Krum had come out of a boat and was scampering up the stairs to the entrance hall in his thick furs and a sour face. He could care less about the fantastic feast that was laid before them when they were all at the Great Hall.

John wasn’t the only one that wasn’t all that pleased with the seating arrangements. The Drumstrang delegation had all sat down at the Slytherin table while the Beauxbatons’ students had opted to sit by the Ravenclaws. John grumbled a little, playing around with his bouillabaisse half-heartedly on his plate. His mates, meanwhile, were stuffing each other’s faces with the exotic and fantastic dishes that the Hogwarts house elves had prepared for them.

“John?” Mike said with an exasperated tone that let John know it wasn’t the first time his name was called.

“Huh?”

“I said, are you done with your bread, ‘cause we’ve all run out and, yeah,” Mike explained, patting his belly.

“Sure,” John replied, shoving his buttered buns on Mike’s plate. Greg was looking at him curiously, because John didn’t usually hand out his food like that or anything. But Merlin, food was nothing to John when Curls had been staring at him intently from the Ravenclaw table all night. When Curls was licking his dessert off his spoon _very deliberately_ and John was blushing and he was half-hard in his pants.

“Fuck.”

“All right, mate?” Greg finally inquired, looking from John to Curls, and grinned. John just elbowed him in response and turned to his untouched treacle tart.

John was ultimately glad when Dumbledore clapped away their food and stood up to address the students before him, getting everyone’s undivided attention because he had pulled out The Goblet of Fire.

If only John knew then what that bloody cup would get him into.


End file.
